Outside Influence
by cheride
Summary: Sometimes all it takes is a little friendly advice.
1. Chapter 1

**_Outside Influence_**- _cheride_

_Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction for entertainment purposes only. The characters and concepts of Hardcastle & McCormick do not belong to me, but to their creators._

_Rating: K+

* * *

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**Author's Notes:** Well, we didn't get to officially meet Frank Harper until the middle of the second season, but in my perfect little Gull's Way world, he's been around forever. What follows is a series of conversations that all took place prior to "Hardcastle, Hardcastle, Hardcastle, and McCormick".

And, just to give you a brief cheat-sheet, they follow my own _An Innocent Man_, "Flying Down to Rio", L.M. Lewis' _Careless_ (which, in turn, follows "Ties My Father Sold Me"), and, "You and the Horse You Rode In On". I'm a big believer in equal opportunity borrowing.

And, as always, many thanks to L.M. and Owl for beta work, encouragement, and all 'round good wishes.

* * *

The quick rap on the gatehouse door had been unexpected, but the plainclothes detective standing on the front step was an outright surprise. McCormick ignored the tingle in his spine, but he couldn't control the way his hand tightened around the doorknob.

"Lieutenant." He didn't think he had controlled his voice much better than his hand, so he tried for a lighter tone. "Whatever it is, I didn't do it."

Frank Harper's lips twitched slightly. "Glad to hear it. Can I come in?"

The ex-con only hesitated a split-second before he moved aside to let the detective pass, but Harper's grin grew.

"Milt didn't tell you I was comin'?"

"Ah, no," McCormick answered as he closed the door, "it musta slipped his mind."

"Well, I am kind of early," Harper admitted, "and he didn't know I was coming here first."

McCormick turned back into the living area as Harper dropped onto the sofa. "So what's up, Lieutenant?" He thought that had come out a little more naturally, so he took a breath, seated himself, and gazed expectantly across at the older man.

"I thought we agreed you were gonna call me Frank?" the officer said.

Mark relaxed a little bit and finally managed a small grin of his own. "Yeah, I guess we did." He settled back into his chair. "So . . .?"

"Milt invited me over for dinner," the lieutenant began, "but I wanted to talk to you for a while first."

McCormick didn't bother asking why; he figured he'd find out soon enough. "He told me I was in charge of the grill tonight; he didn't tell me we were having company." He paused, and shook his head ruefully. "Not that he tells me a whole lot of anything."

"Keeping you in line, is he?" the detective asked knowingly.

"Well, he never lets me forget he's the boss, that's for sure." McCormick's voice wasn't bitter, but resigned.

Harper leaned back into the cushions and cast an appraising glance on the ex-con.

"So, how are things going around here?" he finally asked casually.

"Okay, I guess. Why? Do you know something I don't?"

"You're still awfully suspicious."

McCormick clasped his hands together and leaned forward. "Okay," he said, suddenly serious, "you win. Maybe I _am_ suspicious. But I don't mind telling you, Lieutenant, you're freaking me out just a little bit. So, not to be too blunt, but do you think you could tell me just what the hell is going on?"

Harper laughed slightly. "There's nothing going on, Mark. I really did just want to know how things were going."

"And you couldn't ask Hardcastle?"

"Well, yeah, I could. And I did."

"And?"

For the first time, Harper looked uncomfortable. "And . . . he said everything was fine."

McCormick examined him closely. And then, unexpectedly, he laughed.

"You're checking up on me. I don't believe it."

The detective shrugged, and didn't deny the accusation. "A couple of weeks ago, he was ready to ship you back to San Quentin."

"Yeah," all traces of laughter were gone, "but a couple of weeks ago, I made a big mistake. And you were the one who helped get me a second chance, so what's the problem now?"

"There's no problem, Mark; I'm just trying to make sure _I_ didn't make a mistake. People are not always what they seem, you know."

"No," McCormick agreed, unperturbed, "they aren't. Though it seems to me Hardcastle isn't the kind of guy anyone could fool for long."

"Well, that much is true," Harper conceded. "Though he does make the occasional mistake."

"I know he's had other cons here who didn't work out, if that's your point."

"Well, that's at least part of my point."

McCormick nodded. "Okay, then, let me make sure I understand. Hardcastle basically thinks things are going okay right now, but you're concerned that I'm just a little too much of a smooth talker, and maybe the judge is being lulled into a false sense of security. So, you're just doing a little poking around, forming your own opinions, and this should serve as my official notice that you're watching me, too. Is that about it?"

"Something like that," the detective grinned. "Though you make it sound more sinister than it really is."

"Fair enough. I told you before, Frank, I understand the idea that you're trying to protect him. 'Course, it's a waste of your time to spend too much time worried about me, but that's up to you."

Harper's eyebrow shot up in surprise. McCormick thought the man hadn't expected his warning to go over quite so easily, even if he hadn't intended it to be sinister.

"For what it's worth," Frank told the younger man, "I won't be too surprised if it turns out to be an exercise in futility; I'm just the cautious type." He paused, then added, "But would you like some advice?"

McCormick's mouth twitched into a tiny smile. "Couldn't hurt."

"That thing about him being the boss?"

Mark nodded, and the detective continued. "Well, it might reach the point where it makes you a little crazy."

"'Might reach the point'?" McCormick repeated sardonically. "Yeah, I think that's a safe bet."

Harper didn't seem amused. "I'm serious, so pay attention. The thing you have to remember is not to let it push you to the point where you make another _mistake_. If things start getting tense, you have to talk to him. He's hardheaded sometimes, but he'll listen. Just don't get pissed and do something stupid, because I'm not sure how many second chances the guy has in him."

The young man looked at the officer thoughtfully, and he was touched by the unexpected sincerity on the other's face. He nodded slowly.

"Okay, Frank, I'll keep it in mind. But why . . ." He trailed off, not certain what he wanted to say.

But Harper seemed to know. "Why do I care?"

"Maybe."

"Because if it falls apart, I'm the guy who's gonna have to throw your ass in jail for good."

McCormick considered that for a long moment. He finally decided that the detective truly sounded as if he'd prefer circumstances never reach that point. But he also thought the man's preferences would never once come into play if Hardcastle ever decided this experiment was over.

* * *

Frank Harper sighed and looked up from his desk. He thought he had maybe another twenty minutes of paperwork before he could leave the office for the weekend, but if that was trouble knocking at his door, he could be here for hours. He shook his head dolefully and shouted, "Yeah?" He hoped it didn't sound too inviting.

The door opened just enough for a curly head to peek inside. "Frank? Are you busy?"

Harper almost groaned. Trouble was looking more likely by the minute. But he shook his head and waved the young man inside.

"Nah, just doing some paperwork; come on in."

McCormick stepped into the office and closed the door behind him, looking decidedly ill at ease. He crossed the few steps to reach the visitor's chair sitting in front of the lieutenant's desk, but then simply stood, hands resting on the back, rather than taking a seat. Harper wondered how long the kid was going to be nervous about just setting foot inside the police station. He smiled benignly.

"Is everything okay?" That seemed like a reasonable opening inquiry.

Mark nodded slowly. "Yeah."

Harper thought it wouldn't take a trained investigator to recognize the untruth in that response, but he waited patiently. After a moment or two, McCormick spoke again.

"And how have you been?"

The detective closed his eyes briefly and pinched at the bridge of his nose. "I've been fine, Mark," he answered as he looked back at the ex-con. "But why don't you tell me what's on your mind?"

When several seconds of silence went by, Harper tried a different approach. "Am I gonna need my Miranda card before this is over?"

That got the barest shadow of a smile from McCormick as he shook his head.

"Does Milt know you're here?"

That got a much quicker head shake in response, and all hints of the smile vanished.

"Okay." Harper bit back the sigh, then pointed at the chair. "Sit down, and tell me what you came to say." His tone didn't allow for argument.

McCormick seemed to recognize that fact, and scooted around to drop into the chair. He didn't waste much more time.

"Remember a couple of months ago when you told me not to let Hardcase get to me, and to just talk to him?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Well, that sounded simple enough, but I don't know what I'm supposed to do when what I want to tell him is how fundamentally wrong he is about things and that he just needs to get the hell out of my face."

Harper laughed slightly, though the expression on McCormick's face was anything but funny. Still, maybe this wasn't going to be as bad as he thought.

"Honestly, Mark, I think you could probably just tell him that. I mean, he'd yell back, but so what?"

"Yeah, he'd yell all right, all the way back to Quentin."

"Nah, you got that all wrong. You'd have to do something worse than disagree with him to get your ticket pulled." Harper wasn't entirely sure that Hardcastle's lenient attitude with the ex-con was particularly wise, but he had recognized it almost immediately.

But McCormick shook his head. "Did he tell you we went away for a while?"

"You mean to San Rio? Sure."

"Well, in the first place, that whole idea was just insane, but he wouldn't listen to me. He gave me the choice then—go along or go to jail. Like that's any kind of a choice. Go chase the homicidal maniac, or go _live_ with the homicidal maniacs. Whatever."

Harper was surprised by the bitterness. He was more surprised that the young man would believe Hardcastle's typical bluster. "You can't honestly think he meant that?"

Mark shrugged. "I told you, he's the boss. He can do what he wants. But that's not even the point, really. I mean, as it turns out, it was lucky I was there, so I guess that's all right."

"So what's the problem?"

"Did he tell you anything about what happened down there?" McCormick countered.

"Not much. He told me you got your guy extradited; that's the only thing that mattered to him."

"Yeah, I think he was a little too lackadaisical about the fact that he got himself thrown into the slammer in the process."

"He _what_?"

"Oh, yeah," McCormick elaborated, "he spent some time in the pokey. Avery had him set up on a drug beef. And, ya know, they execute people in places like that for a whole lot less. Probably wouldn't have been anything that formal for him, though. They woulda just let him get lost in their jails for a while until somebody got paid to take him out. It was crazy."

"So what happened?"

McCormick raised an eyebrow. "I can't believe he didn't tell you about any of this."

"Well, it's kinda hard to see Milton Hardcastle being too thrilled with admitting to getting locked up, regardless of the circumstances."

"You could be right about that," the younger man replied, and he finally managed a sincere grin. "'Cuz, really, if I hadn't had to break him out, I mighta thought it was pretty damn funny."

"You had to do what?" Harper dragged a hand across his face. "I really shoulda made Milt give me more details."

"Yeah, see, there was this lady pilot, and—" McCormick stopped suddenly and looked intently back at the detective. "Hey, you don't have any kind of jurisdiction down there, do you?"

Harper grinned. At least one of them kept the kid on his toes. "Nope. Whatever you wanna tell me, I think you'll be in the clear."

"Okay, then, good." So McCormick related a brief but colorful accounting of his unsuccessful attempts at going through channels to get Hardcastle released from jail, and his final decision to resort to Aggie and her helicopter.

The lieutenant was laughing when Mark finished his story. "He didn't really argue with you about breaking out?"

"Oh, he did," McCormick assured the older man. "I think the guys with rifles are the only thing that finally convinced him to get in the damn 'copter. Otherwise, I'm pretty sure he woulda just stayed put and let the _system_ try to sort things out, though you'd think he woulda realized by now that that's rarely the answer."

The bitterness was back in the ex-con's voice, and Harper was beginning to get concerned. That was the kind of anger that could lead people to stupid mistakes, and he didn't intend for Hardcastle to get caught up in dealing with the fallout of that.

"The system seems to have been working okay for him so far," Frank said firmly, "so I don't think that's your best argument, no matter what your beef is today."

McCormick sighed and rose to his feet. "You guys are so predictable it's almost scary," he said, moving restlessly around the small office. After a moment, he settled himself in his more typical spot against the file cabinet and looked back at Harper.

"This system you're so proud of sent me to prison for driving my own car, and then got me blackmailed into slavery for trying to make sure a murderer didn't actually profit from his killing. And on top of everything else, I'm the one that ends up having to save the guy that's responsible for it all, plus listen to his bitching about how I did it the wrong way. What kind of sense does any of that make?"

Harper felt himself relaxing. This was an anger he thought he could probably deal with after all. Apparently the kid just needed to vent. It almost even made a little bit of sense—not that he'd ever say that to McCormick. He stuck to his part.

"Hardcastle's not really to blame for every bad thing that's ever happened to you, Mark."

"Not that's _ever_ happened," McCormick agreed, "just lately."

"And you want to give him back a little bit of that grief?" Harper asked tersely. "Is that the problem?"

Letting out a heavy breath, Mark shook his head. "Nah, that'd be easy; it'd make sense. He is the biggest donkey on the face of this earth, and he really pisses me off sometimes. I _should_ give him grief. But the problem, Frank, the part that doesn't make a single _bit_ of sense, is that I don't think I want to." He glared a challenge across to the other man.

"So what kind of advice do you have for me now?"

Harper just leaned back into his chair, a small smile on his face. It looked like he was going to be here for a while after all.

But it looked like maybe McCormick was planning on being around for a while, too, and that seemed like a pretty fair trade.

* * *

Mark McCormick sat, unmoving, on the edge of the hospital bed. Frank Harper stood, unmoving, staring out the hospital window. After a moment, the younger man spoke.

"I told him I didn't need an armed guard."

"Well, maybe he's not too sure you're making the best decisions lately," Harper snapped.

McCormick sighed very slightly. He should've known the detective wasn't in the mood for glibness. On the other hand, he himself wasn't much in the mood for overbearing police attitude, either. He supposed that made them just about even.

"Look, I just—"

"What the hell is your problem?" Harper demanded harshly, whirling around to glare at the ex-con. "You know, for a long time—almost from the beginning—I've thought keeping you around was a good idea for Milt. And I thought you were smart enough to figure out that it was good for you. But then you go and do something stupid like this. Have I been wrong about you? Because if you're looking for a way out, tell me now, and I'll sure as hell help you find it. Even if it means I've gotta lock you away for the next fifty years, because anything's better than letting you put him through this kind of hell again."

"I don't want out," McCormick said quietly. He glanced nervously toward the door. "And keep your voice down, would ya? I don't want Hardcase hearing you down the hall."

"It's a little late to be worried about him, don'tcha think?" The lieutenant's tone was still harsh, but he lowered his voice before he continued. "And besides, it'll take him a while to get you discharged. He had a few more questions for the doctor. You've got plenty of time to tell me what the hell you were thinking."

Mark drew in a breath. "I knew you guys wanted to get Peters," he defended weakly.

It was true; they really _had_ wanted to nail the extortionist-turned-murderer. He just wouldn't dwell on the fact that somewhere in the last few days he'd gotten the idea that the easiest way to secure a conviction would be to let the man take out one more victim, with the good guy posse waiting in the wings and conveniently recording the whole thing. And the fact that it would also eliminate a few of his own worries in the process—and that Hardcastle wouldn't have to be the one to send him away again—would just be the icing on the cake. But he realized now that he hadn't really thought things through too fully.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't mean—"

Harper held up his hand. "I'm not the one you should be apologizing to."

McCormick gave half a shrug. "We talked. We're okay. Mostly. It'll be fine." He didn't let his eyes meet Harper's.

The detective dropped into a chair. "Look, Mark, I know a little bit about Atlantic City."

McCormick's eyes widened slightly at the apparent change of topic, though he supposed he really shouldn't have been surprised. He should've expected that Frank would have his own comments about recent events; the only question now would be how official those questions might be.

"What bit?" he asked wearily.

"I know it got a little complicated. And I know it didn't work out like you'd hoped."

Mark sat silently, trying to decide just how much Hardcastle had said to the officer.

Harper seemed to understand the kid's hesitation. He shrugged slightly. "You were unconscious for a while; Milt talked a little about the trip to Jersey and . . . since you've been back. Mostly just trying to figure out how things got so out of control so quickly."

"Ah, well," McCormick stammered a moment, and then focused his answer on New Jersey, ignoring 'since you've been back' entirely. "Sometimes that just seems to be the way things go. I don't know if it was really much more, um . . . _complicated_, than any other case."

"Really?" Harper didn't seem convinced, but he followed McCormick's lead. "I heard you got kidnapped by a mobster and Milt ended up having to participate in felony burglary to get you back."

Mark flashed a grin. "See? Pretty straight-forward." As long as they focused on the events that had taken place on the other side of the country, he thought he'd be okay. It was only the stuff leading up to that he'd really like to avoid. Well, and maybe the stuff after.

_One problem at a time_, he reminded himself.

But the lieutenant was still talking, so he thought he wasn't out of the woods yet.

"Hah. I'm not sure even _you_ can put enough spin on this to make it seem straight-forward." Harper paused. "Though it seems to me, maybe that Sonny Daye character had the right idea, at least about a few things."

McCormick stiffened slightly. "Like what?"

"Well, he managed to give up the funny business, right? I mean, he's gone straight?"

"If you don't count conning blue-haired ladies into thinking he's a good guy," Mark said tightly.

"But at least it's legit," Harper continued, sounding awfully philosophical. McCormick was getting a bad feeling.

"Uh-huh," he replied noncommittally.

"See, that's why he's better off than that Tommy Sales guy. Those mobster types never learn; they're habitual."

Mark nodded slowly. "I suppose so."

"And, to make it worse, they're arrogant. You know, if they didn't insist on things like interstate trafficking, or messing around with casino regulations, they could keep a lower profile. I mean, things might not get nearly so hot for them if they didn't always have the federal boys involved." The detective's eyes bored into McCormick's. "Don't you think that makes a lot of sense?"

McCormick really didn't want to dwell on the types of activities that might attract federal attention; he certainly didn't want to talk about it with a cop. He tried to keep it light. "So you're worried about the criminals these days, Frank?"

But Harper didn't let him off the hook. "Only the ones I've come to know personally," he said. "And it just seems to me that if people would keep in mind that sometimes there's a little more . . . _leniency_ . . . at the local level, we'd end up with a lot less people growing old in federal prisons."

Swallowing hard, McCormick tore his eyes away from the older man. "I just—"

"_Anyway," _Harper interrupted sternly, "that's just my take on things, but it seems sensible to me.

"But back to Milt . . .besides wondering how things got so out of control lately, the other thing he's been trying to figure out is just what exactly he did wrong."

McCormick snapped his head up. "What _he_ did wrong? God, he hasn't done _anything_ wrong." He didn't take the time to wonder when he had stopped blaming Hardcastle for a myriad of life's inequities. "I'm the one who—"

"Who managed to get himself kidnapped by those habitual criminals who don't know enough not to mess with the big boys," the officer interrupted again.

"Yeah," McCormick agreed, finally getting the idea that this was yet one more person who definitely _didn't_ want to hear the details of his recent visit to the federal records building. "That." He thought for a moment, then added, "But I never meant to put the judge in the middle of anything . . . dangerous. I'd never want him to feel like he had to do something he didn't want to do."

Harper seemed to soften at the young man's sincerity. "Ah, I think you might be missing the point. It's not that he wouldn't _want_ to do it; it's that he might not always be _able_ to do it. Even the Lone Ranger has his limitations, ya know. So maybe—if you ever find yourself in a similar situation, I mean—maybe it would be better if you're a little more careful, don't take too many chances. And for God's sake," he concluded, "try not to get involved with the feds." He stared again directly into McCormick's eyes.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes," Mark said quietly, though it certainly wasn't a warning he would've ever expected to receive, "I think I do." Then he glanced around guiltily as he heard footsteps outside the door. "Frank, I don't want—"

Harper grinned suddenly, and winked at the ex-con just as the door began to swing inward. "Just don't tell Milt I implied that there are lesser evils," he said conspiratorially.

McCormick laughed lightly, relieved. "That's good advice," he said, as he casually turned to face the judge.

* * *

Frank Harper gazed across at the other men, both sitting stoically, not wanting to be the first to give in. Finally the older one huffed dramatically as he shoved himself to his feet, then muttered something about folders not filing themselves as he headed toward the basement.

In the wake of the departure, the sigh that escaped from McCormick was quieter, but no less intense. He scrunched down into his chair, and looked miserably back at the detective.

"Just once," the young man began, "I wish I could do something without pissing him off."

"Ever tried telling him that?" Harper inquired.

McCormick raised an eyebrow in what appeared to be genuine surprise. "Ah . . ."

"That's what I thought," Frank smiled. He shook his head. "What is it with you two, anyway? Haven't you learned anything? Keeping everything to yourself hasn't worked yet; why not just try talking to him?"

The ex-con shrugged slightly. "I haven't forgotten what you've said, Frank, really. But sometimes . . ."

"Sometimes what?" Harper prompted after a few seconds.

"I dunno, it's just kinda weird. Sometimes it seems like everything's okay. We're getting along fine, and I almost even think he—"

McCormick broke off suddenly, and Harper couldn't help but wonder just how long it was going to take before his two friends could admit to each other what everyone else could already see so clearly.

He didn't take the time to wonder just when he had started to think of them as _two_ friends instead of one friend and the smart-mouthed parolee in the friend's custody.

What he said was, "So what set it off this time?"

Straightening up slightly, Mark said, "I'm not even sure. But it has something to do with the Waverly case."

"Waverly? The water filter guy? Mike Delaney told me about that."

"Yeah, well Mike doesn't really know everything; he doesn't know how the whole thing started."

Harper cocked an eyebrow. "So?"

McCormick fidgeted around in the chair. "Well, he was making me crazy—even more than usual. I told him I needed a real job . . . and a real life." He hesitated, then blurted, "And so I left."

The detective was shaking his head. "I warned you. I _told_ you not to do something stupid."

"Yeah, I know, but seriously, the guy's a donkey. And he didn't seem to care if I left, either. Anyway, that's when I ran into Waverly, and he gave me a job, and it was all downhill from there. This time, Hardcastle got himself snatched, and I just had to go on being Waverly's shill. But, it all worked out in the end—"

"It usually does," Harper interjected mildly, earning himself a slight grin from the kid.

"Yeah, but he's been a little cranky lately. I mean, I think he might be glad I'm back—"

"Of course he's glad you're back," the older man huffed in exasperation.

"Then why's he on my ass all the time?" McCormick huffed back, his own exasperation finally coming to the surface. "I mean, you just saw that . . . that . . . whatever it was. What the hell was up with that? So I forgot to pick up the potato salad. So what? I'll run to the store while the chicken's grilling. It's not the end of the world, but he acts like it's some personal attack on his God-given right to be in charge of my life. It's that kinda crap that made me leave in the first place." He pulled a hand through his curls and added, "Maybe I shoulda just stayed gone."

"Yeah," Harper replied sardonically, "it sounds like that was working out real well for you."

McCormick shot him an angry glare as he pushed himself out of the chair. "You're always on his side," he complained, moving across the room to gaze out the window.

"It's not about taking sides," the detective objected, but that was all he said. He wasn't sure he'd be able to convince the ex-con that he thought keeping this unusual partnership together was the right thing for _both_ sides.

After a moment of tense silence, McCormick finally spoke softly.

"He could've made me stay, ya know. I guess I should be glad he didn't resort to that."

"Well what's he gonna do?" Harper snapped. "Put you in jail because you don't wanna clean his pool any more?"

McCormick shrugged. "He could. That's always been the deal. He doesn't threaten as much as he used to, but it's not the kind of thing I forget."

Harper contemplated the young man staring sullenly out the window, then put forth a gentle question.

"But is that why you stay?"

The detective thought he knew the answer; had known it for a while. But he wasn't sure either Mark or Milt had ever stopped to realize it.

It took a few seconds, but McCormick finally turned, a small smile on his face. "No," he said simply.

The older man nodded, and smiled in return. "Then my advice is to never forget that. No matter how big a donkey he is."

"More words of wisdom, huh, Frank? Though I guess you haven't been wrong yet." The smile grew as McCormick leaned casually against the windowsill. "But you're still taking his side."

This time, the accusation had been delivered playfully, and Harper grinned across the room. "Believe it or not, I've been on your side all along."

"Really? Because from over here, it feels like you've spent the last year trying to convince me not to run out on the guy. And you weren't always subtle, by the way."

"Subtlety is a lost art after too much time with Milton C. Hardcastle," Frank admitted. He thought that someday he might try to figure out when he'd stopped being afraid that McCormick would _run_, and started worrying that he'd _leave_, but he didn't figure that distinction needed to be shared with the kid. "But at least you got the message; you're still here."

There was a nod of agreement, but then the smile slipped just a little. "But maybe it's time you tell him it wouldn't hurt not to push quite so much."

"You know that's just his way."

"Oh, I know," McCormick answered quickly, "and he won't get rid of me that easily. But . . ."

"But he really is a donkey?" Harper suggested into the silence.

The McCormick smile was back full force. "Exactly. I knew you'd see my side of it eventually."

Harper laughed and got to his feet. "Hey, I'm just an impartial observer. Come to me anytime you need advice. But right now, I'd suggest you go get that potato salad."

"You're probably right about that, too," McCormick agreed good-naturedly, and moved toward the landing. "I'll be back in a few."

Harper waited until he heard the Coyote roaring down the drive, then shook his head ruefully and started toward the basement steps. It really had been a long time since he'd thought about taking sides, and he thought there was still time for a little more advice before dinner.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Gosh, it seems I've been away forever. If you'll allow me a slight plug, I'll tell you that I've been rather busy with the STAR for Brian Keith campaign, which you can read all about at www.starforbrian .com. If you'll allow me a slightly larger plug, I'll also tell you that we are working hard to raise funds for the star, and we've got a CD full of new fic to offer in gratitude for donations. If you're interested, please do drop by the site.

But, back to this fic.When I posted chapter one, I thought I was done, but that turned out not to be the case, because Frank maintains a friendship with two very different people. This chapter takes a look at the same span of time as the first, though from the vantage point of slightly different events. These conversations follow _An_ _Innocent Man_, "The Black Widow", "Homecoming", and "You and the Horse You Rode In On". It simmered for a while, before, during, and after writing, so I thank my betas for helping with the process.

Mostly, though, it's for L.M., because she wanted the flip side.

* * *

The friends sat on the patio, enjoying the cool night breeze and the cold beer.

"You sure we shouldn't help him out in there?" Frank Harper asked, jerking his head toward the house.

But Hardcastle just shook his head with a grin. "Don't wanna spoil him. He's gotta learn the ropes."

"You could be right about that," the detective answered, grinning in return. "He strikes me as the kind that might need a short leash."

Hardcastle raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Really? I thought you liked the kid?"

"Yeah," Frank answered slowly, "I do."

Confused, the judge examined the other man more closely and finally asked the question he'd been wondering about since early in the evening. "What was going on with the two of you when you showed up tonight?"

Hardcastle's immediate misgivings at seeing the two of them together had been quickly pushed aside when he realized nothing really seemed out of the ordinary; they were getting along fine. And besides actually wanting to trust the kid, he'd taken comfort in the knowledge that if anything were truly wrong, Harper would certainly tell him, even if McCormick wouldn't.

"Nothing, really, we were just talking a little bit out in the gatehouse."

"Why?" Hardcastle asked, feeling some of the alarm creep back. "Frank, is he in some kinda trouble?"

"Nah, I just wanted to talk to him. But he did seem a little worried to find me standing at his door." Harper grinned again. "Too much time spent with a guilty conscience, probably."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure, Milt. Trust me, I'd tell you if I thought the kid was up to something. And I sure as hell wouldn't be sitting here having dinner with him instead of hauling his butt downtown." He paused, and then added, "At least I'd _try_ to haul him downtown. Seems to me you stopped me last time."

"Well, he hadn't done anything wrong."

"As it turned out," Harper admitted. "Though at the time, I thought your faith was a little premature."

Hardcastle was slowly starting to understand. "And what about now? Still premature, you think?"

Harper shrugged and took a drink of his beer. "I dunno," he finally replied, "maybe. I think he _wants_ to do the right thing here; I don't know if he's gonna be able. There's a lot of history to get past."

The final piece clicked into place for the judge. "You went over there to threaten him," he accused.

The lieutenant shrugged again, not fazed by the sudden glare from the older man. "Well, I think Mark had the decency to refer to it as putting him on notice, but I'm pretty sure he understood."

"I don't really think that was necessary," Hardcastle told him, though it was hard to be too mad at someone who clearly had his best interests at heart.

"Probably not. But like I told him, I'm the cautious type. In this case, I figure one of us has to be, and you seem to already be out of the running."

Hardcastle swiped a hand across his face. "You are confusing the hell out of me. Aren't you the one who wanted me to bring him back here after all that burglary business was cleared up?"

"Yep."

"But now you think it was a mistake?"

"No. I just think it's a long time between now and the end of his parole. A lot could go wrong. Hell, he wasn't out six months before he ran into you again."

Hardcastle didn't have much to say to that, and Harper continued. "But, maybe if you two are just upfront with each other, everything will be fine. I told you; I really do think he wants this to work. I think he might just need a little help."

And, staring at the sincere face of his old friend, Hardcastle finally thought he understood the man's hesitation. Hell, it probably wasn't that much different than the confusion he was dealing with himself. He had intended to keep the ex-con at arm's length for at least six months, and he was surprised by how quickly he'd found himself believing in the young man, and welcoming his presence. That hadn't been part of the plan, and he wasn't completely comfortable with the idea himself. But he figured from the outside looking in, he might look more than just a little bit foolhardy.

"So," he said after a moment, "your advice then is to trust him, but keep an eye on him?"

"Hell, no," Harper contradicted. "He doesn't need _you_ to be unsure. No, my advice to you is just to trust him." He winked at the jurist. "And let _me_ keep an eye on him."

Hardcastle laughed. "Now that sounds like a plan I can live with."

* * *

"You know I woulda treated you to a real lunch," Hardcastle said as they squirted the mustard onto their hot dogs.

"I appreciate the thought, Milt," Harper told him as they moved away from the cart to claim an empty bench in front of the police station. "But no time today. Surely you haven't forgotten the life of a cop?"

Hardcastle smiled and shook his head.

"So what are you doing down here today?" the lieutenant asked.

"Had to tie up a few loose ends with the Filapiano case."

Harper shook his head once, sadly. "That thing's probably gonna get nasty before it's all said and done. I can't believe we had a cop who was okay with the idea of gettin' people killed just to make a case." He smiled at Hardcastle's muffled 'hmph'. Not everyone in the department was on the best of terms with the retired judge, and Harper had heard more than once about the man's disdain for Filapiano.

"So where's McCormick?" Frank went on conversationally. He didn't miss the shadow that passed quickly over the older man's face.

"Oh, they were finished up with him," Hardcastle answered dismissively. "And we had a plumber coming by today, so he stayed to deal with that. He's _supposed_ to be doing some maintenance on the 'Vette and cleaning out the garage while he's waiting, though I don't really expect either one will be done when I get home."

Harper took a moment to study his friend. The tone had implied trouble on the home front, though he was aware of no specific incidents. "Is everything okay?"

"Sure."

It had sounded casual enough, but Harper thought Hardcastle was devoting far too much attention to folding the wrapper around his lunch. "That's what I thought."

The judge didn't look up from his dog, but he nodded slowly. "He went a little crazy this time, Frank."

"I heard he did a pretty good job."

"Well . . ."

"So what's the problem?"

Harper waited until the older man had made quite a show of finishing the last bite, then prompted again, "What happened?"

"Sometimes he seems to forget who's boss," Milt said, finally looking back at the detective.

"Yeah, I've noticed that a time or two," Harper grinned. "Though I've also noticed you usually put up with a lot of his guff. What's different this time?"

"Do you know what he did?" Hardcastle demanded.

Frank just shook his head with a small smile, not pointing out that if he knew, he wouldn't be asking.

"It started when he got all hot and bothered over a pretty face." And the judge explained how Mark had managed to maneuver himself into the lead position on the Tina Grey case, starting with basketball and ending with the rescue of his damsel in distress.

"And then he came home," he concluded, "all smiles and full of himself. He doesn't seem to get the idea that he probably racked up about half a dozen parole violations with that little stunt."

"Especially the weapons possession," Harper agreed, though he wasn't convinced they'd reached the real root of Hardcastle's problem. He decided to test the waters.

"So, you want me to run him in?"

Hardcastle jerked backward on the bench. "What? Hell, no; that's not what I meant."

Frank nodded, and was a little bit surprised at the twinge of relief that swept through him. "Okay. Then this isn't really about parole violations. What's the problem?"

Milt appeared to be giving that a lot of thought as he shifted around uncomfortably. His answer finally came as a quiet confession, which almost seemed to surprise himself.

"He almost got himself killed, Frank. Another five minutes, maybe not even that; that's how close we cut it. And do you know why? Because I couldn't be the boss. Because I let him get to me with some kinda combination of strong-arm and sweet talk. Because even after he left me at the museum and went tearing off on his wild escapade, and even after he made me wait around wondering where he was and what in the hell was going on, even then I didn't shut him down." Hardcastle's face was the picture of regret.

"I should've brought the hammer down right then . . . made sure he didn't forget again that he serves at _my_ pleasure. Hell, what I really shoulda done is put him on the first bus back to Quentin. And, honestly, Frank, I'm not sure I can give you one single reason that I didn't."

Harper thought about that for a moment, then decided to start with the obvious. "He did help you make your case. I thought that's what you wanted him for?"

"Well, yeah . . ."

"And, seriously, you can't honestly have believed that you were gonna manage to set up some kinda dictatorship. You didn't really think he'd go for that for very long?"

"Hey," Hardcastle answered indignantly, "I thought you were the guy that thought he needed to be kept on a short leash."

"I suppose," Harper hedged, "but maybe it's time to loosen it up just a little bit."

Hardcastle was staring in disbelief. "Are you listening to me, Frank? The leash was just so loose the kid shoulda been brought up on charges. And he almost _died_."

"Well," Harper said thoughtfully, "maybe there's a happy medium, something you can both live with that still keeps him out of trouble—and in one piece." He smiled slightly. "And even you aren't so stubborn that you can't budge just a little bit."

"Oh yeah?" the jurist grouched. "What if he goes off on another tangent again?"

"What if he doesn't?" Frank countered. "And besides, if you don't let him go just a little bit, how're you ever going to know that you can?"

And with those final words, Harper returned his attention to his own hot dog, leaving Hardcastle to contemplate new boundaries of trust.

* * *

"What's he doin'?" Hardcastle asked, as Harper gazed out the front window.

"Ah . . ." the detective hesitated. "Waxing the 'Vette?"

The judge snorted. "Again? He just did that yesterday."

Harper turned with a grin and moved to drop into an armchair. "That must be why he doesn't actually seem to be _using_ the wax. But he's puttin' on a pretty decent show."

"He's hovering. Been doin' that ever since we got back from Clarence."

Frank's eyebrow climbed slightly. "Hovering? Wouldn't it make more sense to come inside?"

Hardcastle shook his head slowly. "That might be too obvious." He paused, then added, "Besides, I mighta yelled at him yesterday, for bein' underfoot. That's when he went out and did the 'Vette."

Harper grinned slightly and shook his own head. "You want to tell me what's going on?"

"Well . . ." Hardcastle hesitated again. Trying to understand the kid's moody behavior was hard enough; trying to explain it out loud might be more than he could manage. He began slowly.

"Well, I told you about what happened down there."

Frank nodded. "Yeah," he said sympathetically, "sounded like a bad deal, what with them being your friends, and all."

"Friends," Hardcastle repeated scornfully. "I don't think friends lie to you about stuff, and I'm _sure_ they don't try and kill you just to keep their secrets." He pulled a hand across his face, then looked directly at Harper.

"But I think maybe they _do_ grieve when they think you're dead, and they might even hatch up cockamamie plans to bring your killers to justice, even if it's dangerous to them."

"Mark." The detective's quiet response didn't carry a hint of uncertainty.

"When I found him out there in that cabin, Frank, he was so glad to see me. I mean _really_. Happier than I've ever seen him." The judge couldn't quite hide his surprise.

"Well why wouldn't he be?" Harper sounded more than a little surprised, himself. "The kid thought you were _dead_, Milt."

"And then," Hardcastle continued, "what Christy told me—Christy, that's my friend, Bucky's, daughter—she told me that Mark intended to go after the others, even if he ended up back in prison forever. God, Frank, what was he thinking? That's the kind of craziness he pulled after . . . after his friend, Flip, died."

Frank didn't answer, just raised an eyebrow encouragingly.

"I mean, he's done some crazy stuff before; a coupla months ago when he followed me to D.C. And back in San Rio." The judge shook his head slowly. "But I never realized . . ."

Hardcastle let the thought trail off for a moment, then finally added, "I sent him to _prison_, Frank."

"You were doing your job, Milt. And besides, that was a long time ago."

"Hah. To hear the kid tell it, you'd think it was yesterday."

"He whines out of habit, you know."

"So you're tellin' me you don't think he blames me anymore?"

"Ah . . ." It was Harper's turn to hesitate. He pushed himself out of the chair and wandered back to the window. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "What I'm telling you," he said slowly, "is that I think he's come to grips with it. Whatever he may have felt before, it's different now."

Hardcastle wasn't entirely convinced. "I never expected . . . I mean, I never thought it'd be this way. I figured he'd hate me forever."

Frank nodded. "I don't think anyone could really have expected it, Milt. I doubt anyone would've expected that that the ex-con you sent up would be out there in the drive, doing his best to look busy just so he doesn't have to let you too far out of his sight, but he's out there, just the same." He turned to lean against the sill and look back at his friend before continuing. "But let me ask you something: do you feel the same about him as you did six months ago?"

Hardcastle gave that a moment's serious consideration, then backed away from the idea. "I still think he's a smart-mouthed pain in the butt, if that's what you mean."

Harper smiled slightly, and didn't speak, but Hardcastle thought maybe the mild look of skepticism said enough.

"But," the judge added finally, "I guess he _is_ a pretty good kid." He smiled himself as the detective's expression moved to mildly pleased. "And I guess I oughta tell him he can come back inside now."

* * *

Harper wandered casually down the basement steps, and was glad the judge wasn't pretending to be busy.

"Has he calmed down yet?" Hardcastle asked.

"Have you?"

The older man waved a hand dismissively. "_I'm_ fine."

Harper crossed the small distance and straddled a chair to face Hardcastle. "Well, you seemed a little on edge to me." He paused, then added pointedly, "And Mark isn't sure what he's done wrong."

"Huh. What're you, the go-between? Anyway, it shouldn't be a mystery; he doesn't listen to what he's told."

"He isn't a child," Harper pointed out reasonably.

"Then he shouldn't act like one. He doesn't have that many chores to be responsible for, ya know. It shouldn't be that hard to get 'em taken care of."

"It was potato salad, Milt." Frank was still reasonable, but he'd determined that Hardcastle wasn't going to sidestep this conversation.

"Well—"

"And he's on his way now to get it now," Harper interrupted, "so what're you going to bitch about next?"

Hardcastle tossed aside a file folder he wasn't reading. "You're always on his side," he said petulantly.

The detective couldn't hide the grin. "It's not about taking sides."

"Yeah, well, the way he runs that mouth of his, he wins over a lot of people."

"People like you, I thought."

"Hmph. Don't be trying to get inside my head, Frank."

"Then don't make me. Why don't you just tell me what the hell is going on?"

The judge pulled a hand across his face as he sighed. "Oh, I don't know," he admitted. "I think it started with the Waverly case. It was kind of weird." He seemed to consider for a moment, then amended, "Actually, I guess it started right before David Waverly." He fixed the younger man with a stern gaze. "Did he tell you he got mad and left?"

Harper nodded slowly. "He also told me he didn't think you were too sorry to see him go."

That seemed to surprise the judge. "He said that?"

Frank nodded again. "But he didn't tell me exactly why he left." He hadn't voiced an accusation, but Hardcastle seemed to hear it, anyway.

"Ah, yeah, I think that mighta been my fault. Though I don't really think I was ridin' him any harder than I ever do. It's just that . . ."

Harper waited a few seconds, then supplied, "Just that sometimes that's hard enough?"

"Maybe," Hardcastle agreed solemnly. "I think he was feeling . . . um . . . underrated, maybe. Unimportant." He shook his head. "He should know better by now."

Harper was surprised by the unexpectedly candid response. Maybe this would be easier than he thought. He pointed out the obvious. "Maybe you shouldn't expect him to know something you've never told him."

But when Hardcastle glanced away and didn't respond, Harper realized he might be asking for too much. "Okay," the lieutenant backpedaled just a bit, "maybe you could tell _me_. This isn't really about potato salad, or probably any of his other chores, either, so why don't you tell me what's really going on?"

Hardcastle still didn't offer an immediate reply, but instead turned his attention to shuffling through a stack of folders on the tabletop. "He's pretty good at this stuff, Frank," he said after a moment, indicating the folders and all that they represented. "Even better than I'd hoped." He turned back to the officer.

"You know, when I brought him here, I told him I thought I needed a criminal to catch criminals, and that's really the way I saw it. Oh, I thought he was different than the _really_ bad guys, sure, but he was still mostly just a con. And other than giving him a chance to straighten up a little bit, I never intended it to be more than that."

"But then he turned out to be a pretty good kid, huh?" Frank asked in mock sympathy. "Ruined all your plans."

"Wise guy," Hardcastle accused. "You've been spending too much time with McCormick. Anyway, yeah, he turned out to be a pretty good kid. And you know what else he turned out to be? Someone that doesn't belong behind bars. That's why I let him go when he wanted to go. What was I supposed to do? Send him back to Quentin?" He pinched at the bridge of his nose and gave another small sigh. "Two years, Frank. The kid's got almost another two years left on his tail, and I'm supposed to be the guy in charge, but that seems pretty questionable right about now. I've lost my leverage."

Harper leaned back and gave the older man a mildly disapproving look. "You think this is about _leverage_?"

Slapping his hand down on the tabletop, Hardcastle snapped, "I don't know _what_ the hell this is about, Frank. You talked to him; maybe you could tell me."

The burst of anger didn't hide an honestly confused plea for help, but Harper wanted his friend to work this out for himself. "You do know what this is about," he said with quiet insistence.

It took almost a full minute, with the Hardcastle glare never letting up, but Harper didn't give in. Finally, the judge drew in a long, steadying breath.

"I didn't want him to go," he said softly, almost hesitantly, "but I couldn't force him to stay." His eyes sought out the other man's. "And what am I gonna do next time?"

Harper spoke just as quietly, and with straightforward logic. "Did you try just asking him to stay?"

Hardcastle seemed genuinely baffled by the concept. "Weren't you listening? I'm supposed to be the guy in _charge_."

The detective gave his head a single shake, and looked across at his friend solemnly. "You're more in charge than you realize, Milt. And, honestly, you don't really even have to ask him to stay. He _wants_ to stay. But you are gonna have to stop giving him a reason to leave." He looked up as they heard movement overhead. "And tonight would be a good time to turn over your new leaf."

The judge raised an eyebrow thoughtfully. "You mean I have to be nice?" He didn't seem thrilled with the idea, but Harper considered it a good sign that he also didn't seem completely unwilling.

Frank grinned as he rose from his chair. "Nah. He wouldn't know what to do with 'nice'. It'd probably just scare him off." He motioned the older man to his feet. "But maybe if you'll just remember that you really do want him around, it'll be easier to make sure he knows it, too."

"Yeah, okay," Hardcastle agreed, as he preceded Harper up the stairs, "you're probably right." He glanced back at Frank. "But I still think you're on his side."

Harper just laughed. "Impartial observer," he answered.

"Hah. That's your story, huh?" But as they stepped onto the landing and moved toward the sounds in the kitchen, Hardcastle raised his voice and directed his grumble in another direction.

"McCormick, I hope you got the mustard potato salad; you know I hate that German kind."

Harper placed a hand to his forehead and sighed as he listened to the good-natured bickering now coming from the other room. "That's my story," he muttered. "And I'm stickin' to it."


End file.
